


Hunger

by wildcannabis



Category: South Park
Genre: Activism, F/M, Food, Poverty, Therapy, hunger strike
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-09
Updated: 2012-05-09
Packaged: 2017-11-05 02:22:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/401394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wildcannabis/pseuds/wildcannabis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She wasn't hungry; not for food, anyways. All she wanted was to do something right, something that actually meant something. Why couldn't anybody see that?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I

             _No,_ Wendy thought angrily. _No. I will_ not _eat. That’s final. They can’t make me!_ She was sitting on the floor of her room, back against her lockless bedroom door, trying to keep her parents out.

            “Wendy Testaburger! You open this door _right now!”_ Her father shouted, banging the door furiously.

            “I _told_ you! I’m not eating; I’m on a hunger strike!” Wendy screamed back, shoving her back harder against the door in retaliation. Through the door, she could hear her mother let out a plaintive sob.

            “For God’s sake, _do_ something!” Mrs. Testaburger screamed at her husband, sobbing again afterward.

            “I’m _trying,_ honey,” he said, aggravated. “WENDY! Open up this door up or so help me God I will _break_ it!”

            Wendy’s eyes widened at the threat, but she didn’t budge. “No, dad. I’m not. Opening. The. Door.” She heard the doorknob rattle fervently as her parents tried in vain to open it. More rattling, a sigh, and then silence. Her parents had given up for the night. Wendy let out her own sigh, wondering why her parents were reacting so harshly. _I thought they’d be proud of me,_ she thought miserably. _I thought they would admire my drive and compassion… Oh, what’s the use of trying to make a difference in this world if my own_ parents _can’t accept me for it?_

             _No, no, fuck that. Fuck them. I_ will _make a goddamn difference, whether they like it or not!_

            The next morning, Wendy found that, in an attempt to make her give up her cause, her mother had cooked her an enormous breakfast. _Pancakes with bananas and strawberry jam; my favorite,_ she thought, utterly disgusted. _How low._ Ignoring the food, Wendy quickly pulled her backpack over her shoulders and silently left the house, beginning the walk to school. By the time her parents realized she had gone, she was already out of sight.

            Apparently, however, her mother and father had called in to the school, requesting that she be sent home. She was summoned to the office out of first period English class. Furiously, Wendy obliged, walking out of the classroom while her peers stared. _I cannot_ believe _this!_

            Striding down the halls, just about ready to gun someone down, Wendy felt tears welling up in the depths of her eyes. _No,_ she thought, angry at her body for being weak like that, angry at herself for feeling so emotional.

            She arrived at the office, a scowl burning on her face. She was surprised to find that her parents had not arrived yet. “Hello, Wendy,” the principal of the high school said to her. His dark brown eyes were projecting sympathy towards her, something that she greatly loathed. “Your parents and I think it’d be best if you go in to talk to the school counselor for a while. Is that alright?”

            Wendy threw the man a dirty look. “No; no, it’s not alright. I’m perfectly fine. I don’t need to see the counselor. Just let me go back to class.”

            The principal made a shadow of a move, as if to get up and stop her, were she to try and leave his office. “Now, Wendy, why don’t you just go in and see how it goes? If you don’t think it’s going anywhere, then you can leave… She thinks you may want to go on a hunger strike for _other_ reasons…”

            Wendy considered for a moment. “Can I go back to class, or will you make me go home with my mom and dad?”

            “Wendy, if they want to pick you up from school early, they have the legal right to do so, and I’m powerless to stop them.” Wendy glared at him, although she knew that he wouldn’t just blatantly lie about something she could so easily look up to verify.

            “Then I’m going back to class,” she said in a huff, stalking off quickly before he could stop her.

            “Wait, Wendy! …Get back here!” he yelled out. His secretary called after her, too, but Wendy ignored them both and went back to class. She knew it wouldn’t be long before she was called back out of class, but it was the only thing she could think to do. _Goddamned school,_ she raged. _What gives them the right to try and dictate my personal life?! It’s none of their goddamn business!_

            Wendy remained in class for all of five minutes, before the principal personally came to collect her from English, this time with a frown on his face. And this time, not a single person in the classroom’s attention was focused anywhere but on her; even the teacher gawked, completely halting her lesson plan to watch as the principal took hold of her arm and marched her down to his office.

            This time, the Testaburgers _were_ here, and their faces were incredibly cross. Wendy refused to look ashamed, however. _This is_ my _choice,_ she thought belligerently, trying to provide herself with a confidence-boost. _I_ won’t _back down._

            “Wendy.” The tone of her mother’s voice was alarmingly calm, however. “Wendy. Let’s go.” _Fuck,_ she thought, _wasn’t expecting that…_ She found herself begrudgingly following her mother and father out of the school, over to the parking lot, and into the car. She folded her arms over her chest after sitting down, her lips forming an angry pout. No one spoke on the drive home.

            Except, they _didn’t_ drivehome; they continued until they’d left the town of South Park and arrived in Middle Park. “Where are you _taking_ me?” Wendy demanded.

            Her father ignored her, and her mother said, “You’ll see.” She walked behind her parents miserably as they brought her into a three-story office building in the center of Middle Park. She saw a metal plaque on the well by the elevator, and immediately recognized the reason she was here; her parents had brought her to see a therapist. Wendy’s eyes narrowed with hatred and disgust, as she stubbornly thought, _Well fuck that, I’m_ not _talking!_


	2. II

The waiting room was small, cramped, and beige, with a hefty stack of old magazines on the table in the corner. Wendy sat as far away from her parents as was possible, feeling utterly violated. She glared at the floor, unable to look at them.

Time seemed to dribble by slowly, some kind of syrupy concoction; _how long have we been here? Fifteen, twenty minutes?_ Finally, the door to the office creaked open, revealing a graying woman in a pantsuit.

“Hi,” she seemed to bellow out, her voice relatively deep. “You must be Wendy… My name is Dr. Martinson, but you can call me Shirley.” She winked at her mom and dad, and gave Wendy a large, fake-looking smile. Wendy just stared. _KILL ME,_ she thought.

Disgruntled, she stood up when her parents gave her a stern look, and walked into the office, scuffing her shoes along the carpet. Once the door was safely closed, she took a seat on the shabby, unfortunately-colored couch and said, “Look. I really, _really,_ don’t need to be here right now, Ma’am. Actually, where I _do_ need to be is taking a math test.”

“It’s okay, Wendy; there’s no shame in seeing a therapist,” the woman said, in a way that proved to merely worsen Wendy’s mood.

“I never said there was,” she replied, matching Shirley’s tone. “All I’m saying is that I have no reason to be here; no offense, but you’re wasting my time, time that could be better spent on my education.” Dr. Martinson gave a laugh, clearly used to attitude.

“Wendy, I understand. But one day isn’t so bad, is it? Your parents are just concerned, that’s all,” she said, sounding as if she were speaking to a small child.

“I honestly don’t care _what_ my parents are if they’re dragging me thirty miles out of town on a school day because they like overreacting to everything.”

Shirley waited a while before continuing, “So you think they overreacted to your hunger strike?”

Wendy gave her a glare, again feeling as though she’d been desecrated. “I’m not here to talk about it, it’s not a big a deal; at least, not in the way that my parents are making it. It’s simple, I’m going on a hunger strike, and my mom and dad threw a fit over it. Now can I _please_ leave?”

This went on and one for an hour, question and evasion, question and evasion. Dr. Martinson just kept asking about the same, irrelevant things, over and over, until Wendy wanted to throw the woman out the window. _I fucking hate you,_ she thought as she looked into the woman’s face. _You’re literally being_ paid _to piss me off. This is completely ridiculous._

“Well, Wendy, it looks like that’s all the time we have for today,” Shirley said eventually. _Finally, Jesus_ Christ! Wendy thought. _Wait… what does she mean by ‘today’…? This had_ better _not become a regular thing, or I’m really gonna choke a bitch._

The girl got to her feet, tucking her long, dark hair behind one ear out of habit. “This had better not be continued,” Wendy told Dr. Martinson upfront.

“Well, we’ll just talk to your parents and see what we can work out, then,” she said, trying to slide over the issue entirely. _Devious bitch,_ Wendy thought.

“Look, Shirley. There’s no ‘working out’ to be done. This is it, this is all that it is: I am _not_ coming back. Do you understand?” The therapist pursed her lips slightly, not looking entirely disapproving, but rather unsure of what to say. _Hah,_ Wendy thought, feeling vaguely triumphant. _I finally got you._

They walked back into the waiting room, and Wendy’s mother and father stood up immediately, looking from their daughter to the shrink, and back again. “So…” Wendy’s mother said, speaking out of the corners of her lips and peering over at her daughter. Wendy could tell that her mother hoped she wasn’t listening, which made her even angrier. “Next Tuesday at 4:30?”

“Uh,” Shirley said, thinking for a moment. “Sounds about right, see you then.” With that, the Testaburgers left the office and drove back to South Park. Wendy was positively _seething._ She scowled out the window for the entire ride home, thinking about how unfair it was that she was being dragged into this all over a stupid hunger strike. _Why can’t I just make my statement without having to go through all of this?! My parents are absurd!_

“Wendy,” Mr. Testaburger said once the family had gotten inside the house. “You’re going to eat dinner with us tonight. Understood?”

“Dad, I’m not eating! What don’t you understand about a hunger strike…? This is a political statement!” Wendy shouted, fed up with her parents. “It’s… it’s not like I just decided to stop eating and that’s it, I’m doing it to draw attention to a cause! Have you even _heard_ of Darfur?”

“Dar- _what?”_ Mrs. Testaburger asked, her hands on her hips. “Young lady, this stops _right now!_ Now go up to your room until we call you down for dinner.”

“Dar _fur,_ Mom,” Wendy said, trying to stay composed. “In _Sudan._ There’s a _genocide_ taking place there. You should really look it up sometime, Mom.” Mrs. Testaburger made a noise signifying her annoyance. _This stuff just goes_ right _over her head, doesn’t it?_ Wendy thought. She climbed the stairs up to her room, not because her parents directed her to, but because it wasn’t as if she wanted to be anywhere near either of them.

_This is such bullshit._ Wendy slammed her door as hard as she could without being reprimanded for it, and sank down to the floor, once again finding herself against her door. She scrunched her knees up, put her face in her hands. _I know that I’m doing a good thing, I_ know _it!_

Wendy sat utterly still for a moment, her mind a void. She simply sat, staring at the wall, at the little particles of dust swirling in the light of the descending sun. Finally, she dragged herself to her feet, feeling dizzy as she did so. She dove listlessly onto her bed, curling up into a ball and nodding off. Before falling asleep, a single thought resonated in her mind: _I have to get out of here._


	3. III

Her eyes creaked open, providing her with a fuzzy view of her bedroom. Wendy could hear her parents downstairs; her mother’s humming in the kitchen, her father clearing his throat. She stretched, her arms reaching all the way back against her wall. Changing out of her slept-in clothes, Wendy pulled on thermal tights, a warm, sleeved navy dress, boots, and her parka. She hastily moved her desk chair over to her door, wedging it under the handle and reinforcing it at its legs with a couple of textbooks. She looked over to her window, smirking as she recalled all the times she _hadn’t_ snuck out over the years, though she very well knew how to.

Wendy opened the window as silently as she could, unhooked the screen and guided it back in to the wall. Her room was right beside the garage, and so she could easily climb out through the window and land on the garage roof. Doing so, she pulled her screen back into place and trod swiftly over the roofing, over to the lowest edge. With some effort, she swung down so that she was dangling only from her fingertips, and then let herself drop.

It was a more comfortable landing during winter, when the snow cushioned her fall. Peeping around the corner, she could see through the first-story window her parents were still blissfully unaware, sitting together in the living room.

Wendy dashed down the street, looking back over her shoulder once or twice. _Jeez, this is exhilarating,_ she thought, her heart beating ever faster. Whether from sprinting or from the thrill of escaping, the teenager did not know.

When she’d slowed down, Wendy realized that she had brought herself to the old elementary school playground, on autopilot. Sighing, she sat down on one of the swings, looking around and thinking about everything that had happened here, everything she had _believed_ in here. _I was fighter,_ she thought, a small smile curling around her lips as she pictured her childhood self. _I didn’t take shit from_ anyone. _Not my teachers, not my peers…_

She found herself giggling softly, thinking of all the times she’d stood up to Eric Cartman, that fat little bastard of a nine-year-old boy; how they’d gone neck and neck, fought it out, played dirty… _Have I gone soft?_ She wondered, swaying gently back and forth as her toes pushed against the sand.

The air began to grow stiff and cold, rattling Wendy, even under her warm jacket. She smoothed her tights over, still sitting on the swing, not daring to move. _I don’t think there’s anyone in this goddamn place who understands._

As if on cue, a figure suddenly appeared, walking towards Wendy Testaburger. _Shit!_ she thought. She was about to flee when she realized that if her parents really _had_ discovered her, there’d be two of them, not just one. When the person finally moved close enough, she recognized who it was, with his angelic blonde hair and pretty-boy charm. “Kenny?” she asked.

“Hey, Wend,” he said, walking the rest of the way over to her and sitting on the swing beside her. “Whatcha doin’ here? …I thought _I_ was the only one who ever came around the old elementary school.”

“I… I just had to get out of the house… you know?”

“Me, too,” he confided in her, kicking his toe around in the sand. “The ‘rents were fighting again and stuff… damn drunks…”

“I’m sorry, Kenny,” Wendy  said, looking up and over at him for the first time since he’d sat down. The silence between them was thick, but comfortable. _Beautiful, too, in a way,_ Wendy thought. _Beautiful in a sad way that we can just kind of feel the anguish of the other._ “…You wanna talk about it…?” she finally asked.

Kenny looked at her, surprise lingering in his clear, cerulean eyes, lit up with the moonlight. “Uh…” he began. “Gee, uh… you know, no one’s ever really like… _cared_ … before…” Wendy felt her arm extending, felt it reaching over to rub the boy’s back, the only comfort it could give. It was as if she hadn’t done it at all, and yet in a strange way, she had.

“I care,” she said, her voice an almost-whisper.

The boy sighed, planting his feet on the sand and resting his arms on his knees, his face hidden in his sleeves. Wendy got up off of her swing, electing to sit beside the boy in the sand, her head leaning against the seat of the swing. “It’s just… you know… it never stops,” Kenny finally admitted, lifting his head out of his lap. “They just yell and yell and yell, and you’d think eventually they’d get tired of it, but _no,_ they just keep on _fighting_ with each other.” He paused for a moment, his eyes shifting down towards Wendy.

“Nothing is ever right in that house,” he continued, his voice sounding a little darker. “Nobody is ever happy. Nobody ever fucking _does_ anything! They just hate each other, ignore each other; whichever is easiest. And… you know… I get sick of it. I get sick of living with a bunch of people who seem like they just couldn’t care less about one another… I don’t know…”

Wendy’s fingers drew little circles in the sand as she listened, feeling suddenly like a very selfish person, indeed. _At least my parents_ care _enough to be such assholes,_ she thought, feeling a ripple of remorse course through her body. She was humiliated at the prospect of telling this boy what was on her mind. Yet she nevertheless found herself saying, “You’re going to think I’m terrible once I’m done, but… I have it sort of the other way around…”

Kenny listened to her, completely silent, as she told her story, recounting the events of the past two days.

“…And, I _know_ that they love me, I really do… but… they can’t just dictate my life like that, it’s just not _right.”_ Wendy looked up, her eyes a little watery. She waited for Kenny’s verdict on whether she was officially the worst person in the world.

To her surprise, the boy said quietly, “…It makes sense. There has to be balance.” Kenny’s voice was thoughtful. “It can’t be what I have, and it can’t be what you have.” For a moment, their eyes found one another’s, and they exchanged a long look. “C’mere,” Kenny said, breaking the silence but not the glance.

Wendy got up onto her knees and moved over in front of the swing so that she faced Kenny, able to see eye to eye with him. He held his arms open, inviting her to fall into them, and she did, surprised when she felt the tears coming on.

When at last they broke off their embrace, she could see that Kenny, too, had eyes brimming. Without thinking, she reached up to wipe away his tears, while at the same time, Kenny reached down to do the same for her. The pair giggled, their own affections having foiled the others’.

“You know,” Kenny said, a smile blossoming slowly onto his face, “People don’t see me as the kind of guy who… well… would sit on a swing set crying, for one.” They laughed again. “No, but really, people just see me as this kid who… who likes to fool around. Well, I have other sides to me, and I think… I think you might be the only one who knows, Wendy.”

Her pulse doing a sweet, twitterpated dance, Wendy leaned forward, her lips wrapping around Kenny’s in a soft kiss. She reached her hands up, placing them on his sturdy shoulders, and felt like maybe, just maybe, she _had_ done something good for the world, even with a gesture as small as this.


End file.
